


Sherlock's Snooping

by muchechops



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blogging, John Watson's Blog, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 21:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchechops/pseuds/muchechops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the pitfalls of securely blogging around a super-genius...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's Snooping

Reader, I have been rousted. 

I have been skewered, fellow blogger. 

Dear all, I have been well an’ truly hoist by my own petard. I am undone. Unbelievably, after all I have done for him: his home, his reputation, his conviviality, his acceptance by his peers - well he has no peers, but you get the gist - after all this, I am ousted. And not just from the flat. Oh no. The lab, NSY, the club, Mrs Hudson’s, Lestrade’s - you name it and my name is mud. Blackened. Dragged through the Grimpen mire, tarred, feathered, hung, drawn & quartered upon Tyburn for all to see.

All I did was blog. My usual wont. He had read them before. He may deny it till the cows disembark from Aya Napa at Heathrow, but there’s no escaping the fact that he has previously read my blog. He may swear, copiously, upon the Bible. Cheat a lie-detector. Denounce the Earth is round, the divine right of monarchs, that geese fly south etc. etc. but even he couldn’t trick the keystroke spyware I’d installed the third time he’d perjured himself. It was hilarious to watch him try: “I wouldn’t possibly find anything remotely diverting amidst that piffle.” he’d said; well, that’s what it sounded like in my head as I write this… “Watson, that deranged drivel is calcifying your cranium.” he’d snort. Until I unveiled the spyware report. Then he spluttered & muttered & resorted to fiddling whilst boiling faecal-encrusted socks, or some such nonsense.

So I knew he read this blog. And others. I knew it. Despite his protestations. And yet I did it.

It cannot be denied. I did it.

Dear reader, I succumbed. I may have been lead. I may have been mislead. I may have been goaded. However, the action is mine, and so therefore the guilt is too.  
I fanficked. I did. It was meant to be anonymous. It was meant to be untraceable. The URL & ISP were meant to be secreted through the subweb, or whatever. But HE found me out.

GOD knows why he was looking. And in there, of all places.

He’d heard the rumours. We’d discussed them. We’d refuted & denounced & ridiculed them for goodness’ sake. I’d even trawled for some, just to see what was what & we’d laughed ourselves silly at some of the ‘Johnlock’ nonsense that was proliferating on the net. Not on MY blog, but other platforms. Who shall remain nameless... (Tumblr. AO3. I have you in my sights…)

But, I deflect. I distract. I drivel.

He went looking. He, Sherlock, found. He opened. He read. He critiqued. Corrected grammar & spelling. Edited & suggested amendments. Of SHIPPING... porn… it was racier than anything I imagined…

And I suppose that was my downfall. I imagined. Too much. I got excited. I turned on the laptop, opened Word, and wrote. And wrote. And wrote. It was diverting. Entertaining. Titillating. sorry. But it was. I got a HUGE... hoot out of it.

That was until someone posted it. And someone else read. And that selfsame someone blew a gasket over it.

I swear it was him. Sherlock found it & posted it. It certainly wasn’t me. Do you think I wanted my own private… amusement, seen…? Well, maybe I did… a bit…  
But it was TAME compared to what some of you imagine we’re capable of in the back of a taxi, under a coffee table, or in the bath! Have you SEEN how small British baths are? There’s NO WAY - I digress. Again.

SO… I’d merely penned a little note about a possible contretemps between a certain acknowledged pair of distinguished London gentlemen. For private amusement. Only. It was nothing sordid. Or debauched. I’d received commendations for my poetry at Sandhurst. My postings magazine had been a hoot in Karbul - collecting prose & poem & article & satire alike from the frontline. I had the last issue framed above my headboard. My writing had been acknowledged. It was above the common… diatribe. So I thought. Mrs Hudson had demanded sight of it, when she discovered I was writing more than our investigative journal… I had politely declined to show her. As I had to.

But then somehow, someone, someway detected it, edited it & POSTED it. On my blog. Amongst others...

And THEN had the temerity to challenge me about it. Demanding I recant. I retract the said salacious filth & expunge his name from all traces of suggestive… shenanigans.

I ask you. It was as if he wanted it read. Just so he could be indignant.

I hadn’t intended it for your consumption, good reader. Without doubt, you have all read, re-read, copied, pasted, blogged, reblogged, liked, shared & tweeted it morbidly by now. Heavens help us.

And no-one was meant to have sight of it. No-one. Well. Maybe Jane... Eventually... after 25 years of quantifiable hetero rutting... but not before. Not this early. Not this… gimp-masked, ball-gagged, doggy-caged, butt-plugged, nipple-clamped, ball-slapped CBT’d soon!!!

Yea gods, how I wish I hadn’t written it.

Well.

A little bit.

Another bit of me’s quite chuffed with the anal-splitting adjectives. And the ball-crushing detail. And the nausea-inducing amounts of fluids generated. On and off the page.

But it wasn’t supposed to be posted. Not yet. Not until I’d photoshopped the pictures…

He’s still sulking. You can almost hear the ranker bending the notes on his fiddle. Well, he who listens at keyholes…

And he who can’t manage a reverse cowgirl has no business sniping about fanfic. :p

Even if it is generated by yours truly.

Stay posted, dear reader. There’s more where this came from... :p 

JOHN W :D


End file.
